


today you were far away (how close am I to losing you)

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Blood Loss, FIx It, First Kiss, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Unreliable Narrator, episode: safe house part II, everyone can go home now / i fixed mark and damien, first imma make you feel sad but just yknow power through it, pov mark bryant, protective mark bryant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-19 10:33:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13702683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: Look what they've done to you,he thinks.What you've done to you.  An entire fucking month apart and you come around to pick a fight and nearly bleed out in front of me.After everything they've been through.God, what a bastard.(art by franartz)





	today you were far away (how close am I to losing you)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [hold on](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/358668) by chord overstreet (song). 
  * Inspired by [today you were far away (artwork)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/358797) by franartz. 



 

> _Love isn't always magic. Sometimes it's just melting or it's black and blue where it hurts the most._
> 
> **Andrea Gibson /[Maybe I need you](http://ohandreagibson.tumblr.com/maybeineedyou)**

 

Anger builds up in Mark, hot and churning in his stomach like he's swallowed fire. Flames that refuse to extinguish lick up his throat and bleed through his mouth, scorching every word.

"I know what kind of equipment The AM has," he growls.

He has the scars to prove it and then some. Joan doesn't understand. Joan has never been locked in a closed room with a panicking telepath as they're being mentally gutted. She's never had to violate another human being. She doesn't have their subject numbers and faces seared into her memory.

Fuck, he hadn't known most of their names. 

He's not Wadsworth. He doesn't get off on dehumanizing and abusing people, Damien especially.  He's not the new and more detached Joan who chills him to the bone. He'd been Damien a few months prior, on the run from authority figures who itched to lock him up and experiment until they broke his will. 

And here is his own sister. His Joanie, advocating for The AM. It's like having the rug ripped out from under him and finding that there was never a foundation to speak of. 

"Mark-" 

Joan, ever ready to peddle her self righteous pity. Judas wears his sisters face. Judas projects colors of disgust in his head and mentally pings new plans of action back and forth, trying to fly under the radar. Empathy does not calculate in when her heart isn't tied up in the person. How many times have her words and actual feelings stood at odds with one another?

Is she even who she claims to be?

Is Sam?

He's been lied to enough that he has a hard time believing anyone in that room is truthful. 

He pins Joan with a hard glare. He'll fight his corner until he's blue in the face. They're  _not_ taking him. Damien isn't a fucking asset to trade to The AM for brownie points with Wadsworth. 

* * *

 

 

_"Mark, I-I don't feel right...please don't leave me."_

_"Please don't-"_

_Please don't._

**_Please-_ **

Damien's pleas ring in his ears, a caustic reminder of how frail and vulnerable he'd been after having his power stripped. Mark's fury over his dishonesty had been violent enough to knock the other unconscious. Damien sat hunched over on a hotel bed with his head in his hands and a sheen of sweat on his forehead, stony blue eyes suddenly wearing down until only Robert Gorham remained. 

The kid who'd been abandoned by those who should've loved him (though Mark hadn't known at the time).

The desperately lonely guy who'd had everything and wanted nothing to do with it.  Who'd craved affection as the starving crave a meal- tried to force it with Mark rather than offering up a seat at his table and _asking._

"I'm not going to leave you," Mark assured him, heart plummeting and cracking.   _Not ever,_ he thought. _I'm not them._ When you care about someone you take their darkest moment and shoulder it with them. 

You stay. 

Whether Damien likes it or not Mark does care about him. Needs him, powerless or healthy. Genuinely wants everything about him- even the intersections where black and blue meet black and white. No gray. The world has never afforded him a full palette. That's where Mark comes in. 

You matter to me, he thought. 

I'll color you in. 

To prove it, he'd ignored Damien's faint protests that night and nudged him to the center of the bed. Bundled him in a hotel issued threadbare blanket. Hell, sheets too. Why not? He knows how raw it feels to have your ability taken, how safety becomes a mirage you will never reach. 

Charlie made him feel safe. 

Damien needs Mark to be his Charlie. 

He didn't miss the ragged sigh against his chest when he pressed himself against Damien's back. Nor the knee-jerk stiffness for half a second when Mark slid an arm around his waist. The trust it took for Damien to melt into him and let himself be held.

Me too, Mark thought. 

He'd stayed awake until the shivers wore off and only shut his eyes when he felt ribs softly expand in shallow sleep laden breaths against him.  

When Mark had a nightmare that very night it was Damien who'd turned on his side to face him and talked in low soothing tones about nothing at all until Mark calmed. He'd bit his lip in hesitation after a beat of silence and came to a decision- gradually easing into Mark's space. 

He'd inhaled sharply when Mark thrust an arm out and pulled him close until they were chest to chest, balancing something they couldn't quite label. Not yet. They'd passed out with his head buried in the crook of Mark's neck and fingertips just under the hem of a soft t-shirt. 

Safe. 

* * *

 

If only there was a way to know you were in the good days before they were gone- didn't someone on a tv show say that once? Yeah. There were long stretches of time where Mark felt more like a scared child than happy, seeing as Damien was languishing by the day, but you take what you can get. The good days were  _breathing_ and  _arguing_ and  _together._  

 

 

Damien groans.

 

 

Mark lets Joan win the patented Bryant stare down this time and shoots across the room to the stained sofa. He instantly drops to his knees on the hardwood and his breath catches at the damage painted across a face he knows like the back of his hand. 

Now that it's less bloody and somewhat bandaged, what remains of the assault are sickeningly visible. To say Damien's injuries are severe is to vastly downplay the strength of Caleb's hands. Severe is being too kind. Take that and multiply it- _that's_  the kaleidoscope of colors that makes up Damien. His dark brows are woven with red, cheekbones mottled and purpling, lips swollen and split. Even his hair is stiff with blood. 

Pools of it seep into the carpet in the other room followed by a trail of droplets leading to the sofa like breadcrumbs. 

Jesus it reads like a crime scene.

Damien looks  _dead._

"Is he waking up?" Mark asks.

Say yes.

Was it wishful thinking that drew his eye to a blink-and-you-miss it twitch of Damien's fingers when he sat next to him? Is he coming to? He touches a bruised and scraped hand tenderly, presses the pads of his fingers against Damien's soft inner wrist where his pulse faintly beats. He's two shades paler than he normally is beneath the contusions and thinner than he was a month ago.

Fragile again. 

Okay, now he _has_ to wake up. It's Mark's turn to play the hero. Last time doesn't count. He's been Sleeping Beauty before and Damien is taking his role just as serious. Which isn't okay. He's not allowed to slip into a coma. Even Walt Disney himself would agree. Mark is here. Mark wants him to be okay. This is the chapter and paragraph down to the last period where Mark kisses him and he magically bounces back to life with his usual bitchiness. The resolution where everyone is forgiven and The AM fucks right off. 

Isn't it? 

_(No)_

Chloe and Sam make their way over and peer down at Damien, perplexed. 

"His eyes aren't opening," Chloe points out. 

No shit, it's physically impossible.

"Yeah well, it looks like one of his eyes _can't_ open," he mutters. Damien's left eye is barely a slit thanks to Caleb jumping the gun and outright _abusing_ him. Mark reaches up and gently thumbs away a sticky red splotch. "It's so swollen," he says, mostly to himself. 

Look what they've done to you, he thinks. What you've done to you.  An entire fucking month apart and you come around to pick a fight and nearly bleed out in front of me. After everything they've been through.

God, what a bastard. 

Damien responds to his voice with a hoarse groan. Mark hits stop on his internal lecturing to whisper a prayer to whoever is listening out there. Give him back. Mark wants him back. The groaning is a good sign, isn't it? 

Yeah. _Yeah_ \- he's coming around and any second now he'll start running his mouth and stumbling for the door. Mark will of course- force him to stay. It won't feel nice but neither will getting hit by an oncoming vehicle when Damien tries to blindly cross the road to escape. 

Mark will go against his (ignorant) wishes because Damien is sick and he has to stay indoors. The formula for survival hasn't changed even if the narrative has been flipped: fatty foods, a camera to keep Damien occupied, crossword puzzles when his hands heal, cable tv. Lots of rest and he'll need assistance with walking- nothing they haven't faced before. Who the fuck needs The AM, right?

Damien is fixable and Mark will prove it.

Worse case scenario, they'll consult Google. Like he'd Googled  _coma recovery 101_ in the earlier days. 

"Damien," he breathes, feeling optimistic. "Damien, can you hear me?" He rocks forward and plants his free hand on a slender chest, careful not to apply pressure. Lowers his voice and makes a promise to protect him. He'll fight everyone in this room should they try anything. 

And they would too, no doubt about it.  

"You're going to be okay. I promise," he murmurs. Anxiety rapidly settles in when Damien doesn't respond or even move. "Come on man," he pleads. "Just please, just wake up." 

If he remains unconscious drastic measures will have to be taken and they're already operating on borrowed time. Frank said 30 minutes max- it's been about 20 and for all of their mending and Mark's desire to _want_ Damien better, nothing has changed save for a couple groans. 

Any longer and Joan will rush in, all stone faced business and apathy and wrench the reigns right out of his hands. The lot of them will throw Damien in the back of a vehicle and Wadsworth will- she'll lock him away and Mark will never see him again.

His vision blurs with tears and he feels sick. His head whirls with a range of red and black colors floating alongside hateful thoughts regarding Damien. Distressed speculation about Mark's visceral reaction to Damien's injuries and toward them two of them in general. 

He can practically taste their cagey hostility. There's a war in his head with one man at the center- a subdued voice. The only colors Damien throws off are faded and nearly opaque like he's  _dying._   But this time, Mark can't slap him back to consciousness. He can only use himself as a shield. 

Voices form an integrated murmur behind and away from them. He dimly registers Adam entering and Sam directing him toward the bathroom. Focus. Pull in your focus, he thinks. Narrow it down. 

Him.

Him.

Him.

"Damien. Hey, Damien. Fuck. Damien, I need you to wake up," Mark whispers with a heightening sense of urgency. "Please...I still need you, okay? Not- not your ability or your surprisingly good nurturing skills. _You._ You got me to admit that so c'mon, be cocky about it. I won't even complain...too much." 

Silence.

"I know, I know but you're safe alright? _I'm_ here and I'm telling you- your only job is to stop being such a damn drama queen and talk to me. God, you know how much I hate it when you stonewall." 

Nothing but the quiet. Mark stares at him for a long moment before sitting back on his heels and tipping his forehead against Damien's hand. Still holding onto him in more ways than one. "I want you to wake up," he says hoarsely. He tosses it at Damien, straining his ability until his head throbs.

I want you to get mad, he thinks and drives the thought into Damien more vehemently. I want you to talk to me. I want to hold you. I want you to want to survive. I want you to explain why the fuck you came here tonight and why you thought throwing me away was a good idea. 

Such a dick move. 

 _"Mark,"_ Damien moans, obviously putting a considerable amount of effort into speaking.

Oh God.

Oh God, he's waking up. 

His eyes are sealed shut but he knows the angles of Mark's hand and the timbre of his voice when he's upset. He has always hated it when Mark is upset. It's almost like he takes it personally.  Mark's stomach does a little flip and his chest feels tight. Hot tears well up and cut a path down his cheeks and chin. Damien is alive and speaking. He's dragging himself out of hell by following Mark's voice. 

Coming up for air and seeking him out.

_What a feeling._

Damien squeezes his hand and Mark brings it to his lips, kissing a knuckle that survived the attack with barely a scratch. 

 A hush falls over the room when he excitedly addresses the others. "He was definitely trying to talk, wasn't he? That's a good sign, right?" He asks, uncertain about whether that actually happened or if it was a figment of his overworked imagination. "And I think he tried to squeeze my hand."

Mark has yet to release it. Their expressions are pinched with concern. Joan looks as if she wants to pitch Damien out the door before he regains consciousness. Sam is gaping at their hands, wide eyed and sad. Frank, Caleb and Adam keep their distance, standing on the opposite side of the room. They're tense. 

Chloe bites her lip and moves to stand at the end of the sofa where Damien's legs rest, unmoving. 

"Maybe we should give him some space. You need a break. Doctor Bright and I will look after him," she suggests. 

Mark's eyes dart around the room with suspicion. He soaks up their unease and cageyness. They're thinking ahead and plotting about the best approach to dealing with a severely injured but conscious Damien. They are not relieved and the timing is suspicious. 

Now that they know he isn't dead, they want to take Damien away and dump him at The AM's door like a pile of garbage to be collected. To take him to the gallows. All Mark has to do is leave the room and he'll fall into their merciless hands. Easy as that. 

"I don't need a break," he retorts, face heating and ears burning. He crowds Damien and flings an arm across his chest posessively.

Frank winces. 

Chloe shoots him a tiny smile though he can see and feel the pity she's radiating. "Mark, your thoughts are all over the place," she says. "You're not useful like this."

He hears: You're useless. You can't even fix yourself. But he's not. He's the only one who knows how to handle Damien and the one person Damien knows he can trust. 

He grips Damien's ruined shirt and glares at her, cold and angry. Doesn't give a shit what she's hearing when she pokes around in his mind. "I don't care," he hisses. "I have to fix him."

He's broken. Caleb ruthlessly disassembled him with his bare hands, proving that at least one of the people who claim to care about Mark harbor a lot of ill concealed hostility. Not towards him but it's aimed at Damien, which is Mark by proxy.  Damien is his responsibility- or _something._

He's always been  _something._

Joan's hand forms a fist at her side. "Mark, you can't," she insists. 

He hears: You shouldn't. Let him be someone else's problem for a change. 

"Jesus Christ," he shouts at the gathering, "Why is everyone staring at me like that? What do you think I'm going to do?"

Go unhinged and take Damien as his fugitive? Rush him to an actual hospital with a real doctor?  _SAVE HIM?_ Why the hell are any of those a bad option? 

Sam holds out a hand to pacify him and makes the mistake of taking one step forward. "Mark, why don't we go into the other room for a few minutes," she suggests.

Nice fucking try. 

He folds both hands over Damien's and holds on for dear life. Yeah, that might hurt but he'll heal. "What, why?" He says hysterically. "Are you guys going to sneak off to The AM when I'm not looking?" 

Judas- _Joan_ pitches her best therapist voice. "Of course not," she assures him. "But Damien seems as stable as he can be at the moment and I think all of us could use a few minutes to cool down. Wait and see if he wakes up."

The swell of her cool anger flashes red in his mind. Always at odds with herself. 

"Fine," he relents, releasing Damien. "Jesus..." 

* * *

 

Sam corners him. Demands to know why he's taking Damien's side over hers. He's  _dying_ in the other room and she wants to pick a fight over prioritization and implied battlelines. 

"Just tell me," she demands. "Do you have feelings for him?"

Feelings.

As if they could be so easily organized and defined. Does he? Oh yes, many of them in fact. But now is not the time to be dissecting his love life- _never_  is ideal. Yeah, that works. That fucking works. 

He skirts around the question and they argue and they argue until he settles on the word: complicated. Unspoken: yes I'm attracted to him, yes I want and need to fix him, yes I do care about him. Yes I do want to give him a piece of my mind. Yes, I want to scream at him for being stupid.

Yes I do like him. Miss him.

Maybe....love him. 

The magnitude of the latter and the proof he wears on his skin (blood- not his own blood) is unsettling. 

She reminds him that Damien is the same person who kidnapped him and lashed out at everyone in the group. Tries to talk him away from his feelings by saying he shouldn't have them because Damien is a disease of a person. She says she's not nervous and disgusted that he's attracted to another man but it's  _that_ one in particular. 

Not true. She would've felt the same if it were Charlie in Damien's place. 

"I know," he says. "I-I am too." Waits a beat too long to cover what he'd just confessed: I love him. I care for him. It makes me nervous, it scares me. She makes a face that says they'll be discussing that soon. "-nervous, I mean."

"Well, what are you thinking about him right now?"

Truth or lies.

Feelings vs expectation.

He chooses the latter of each. Begin with a truth-"I'm thinking that I don't want to watch him die." Spin in a lie. "But I also wanted to beat his face in myself."  He'd been pissed as hell when Damien marched into the safehouse triumphantly, looking like he hadn't slept in weeks, and made his demands. 

No concerned phone call asking,  _Hey Mark. How ya holding up?_ Or pathetic voicemail message- _By the way I'm still earthside. Want to drop by and pity me?_

Radio silence until Damien's pouting rose to new heights. Would he have hit him though? No, full stop. Even Sam knows he's bluffing. 

"Yeah," she says, unconvinced. 

The truth then- "I hate what he did to me, tricking me like that," Mark shares. "Messing with my head. But I also- his ability, it's so- I think I understand him a little more now. Now that I've felt what it's like."

She presses her tongue up against her teeth and a vibrant red throbs in his mind.

"-and that doesn't make it okay," he continues. "Nothing about this is okay- but having that ability his entire life can't have been easy, you know?" He's babbling now. Justifying his feelings and trying to make her see Damien from his perspective. The human in him. 

She accepts, with reservations. 

She worries that it's a façade. No, even Damien isn't that good at controlling his ability. He got sloppy more than once and somewhere between the white van and Texas, Mark  _chose_ to stay. Wanted to like him and even said it out loud.  To gauge the situation, you need to hold all of your cards. 

There's a lot that he's not saying.

Which brings them full circle to his confession where he'd admitted that his feelings make him nervous. 

Define them.

"Hypothetically if they are real," she says, chewing her bottom lip. "I need to know what I'm working with."

"Sam-"

"Yes or no. That's what I need from you, Mark. You love him?"

Summer nights with the windows down and radio up, the world spanning out before them. TV shows they'd compromised on and Mark's astonishment over Damien having never watched He-Man or The Flintstones. Damien's imprint on the pillow next to his because screaming your way out of a nightmare is less suffocating with a hand to hold onto. 

The arguments rooted in clashing morals that led to stonewalling. Eventually muttering apologies but not-apologies. 

The  _"Hi honey"_ and  _"This made me think of you so I bought it. Like it?"_

The AM discussions that were semi therapeutic by way of tough love. Bedhead, lost toothbrushes, sunsets viewed from the hood of the car, shopping at night and ignoring Damien's impatience when Mark stopped to examine half of the damn store because-  _W_ _hat is **that**? __No, of course I don't remember it. I was comatose when they made it._ Four months of sharing a room and a life. 

He takes a deep breath. 

"We didn't mean for this to happen," he admits. Stares at the closed door that leads to the living room and Damien. There's no use in denying the truth even to himself. "...yes. The answer is yes."

His admission hangs in the air with a finality. He has loved Sam in and out of the threads of time. Loves how she hums when she makes breakfast and does her best to make room for him in her life. He fell in love with Damien between rest stops and diners. Loves that he always knows to take the scenic route without asking and argues when his paper map from the gas station leads them astray. 

"And me?"

"Yes. God yes," he says.  He reaches for her and-

"He's awake," Chloe says, bursting through the door. "He's-well, we think he said Mark's name but it could've been his usual nonsense." She glances between them and mouths an apology before seeing herself out.

"Well?" Sam asks. 

"What?"

"-what are our options outside of The AM? We're going to need a plan."

His chest swells with pride. "You're incredible," he murmurs and peppers her face with tiny kisses. "You're with me on this?"

There's a commotion in the other room and what sounds like muffled demands that could only belong to one person. Mark rolls his eyes and Sam shrugs in agreement - this is the asshole you fell in love with. 

"I'm with you."

There's an audible crash and Frank's even tone, reassuring someone. 

* * *

 

"Damien," Mark says, rushing to the sofa. "Damien, stop throwing shit. You shouldn't be-"

"Mark..."

Half propped up on the sofa with one leg dangling and shards of a lamp scattered on the floor, bandages lopsided.  Beautiful. He's beautiful. 

Frank bent to collect the thick pieces around them until Sam whispered in his ear and together they lead everyone into another room. Battleplan time. Sam was calling the shots now and they were finally on the same page. He had no doubt that she'd find a trustworthy doctor even if it meant having to fly one in. 

If the others disagree, she'll talk them around.

Mark drops his head to Damien's hip and exhales shakily. Fingers stumble and pat the air until they settle in his hair, too sore to do anything more than roughly stroke it. Safe. They're safe. 

"If you ever pull that shit again, Damien," Mark threatens.  "I swear I will leave your ass for good." 

Two taps on his forehead. 

"I know you're sorry and you should be."

Slurred mumbling. 

"Why?" Mark chuckles. "Why am I staying? Well you see, Disney underwent some major changes while you were unconscious. Sleeping Beauty? Shifty guy in a hoodie now. That's you and I love you," he says, blurting out the last four words in a rush. 

A tug on Mark's hair followed by Damien's muffled, "Ow" when bending his fingers hurts. Poor baby, Mark thinks. 

"Maaark..."  

Two very light taps. Damien tries to smile and winces, tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

"Uh-uh. I'm not- nope. No kisses for you. Not until you're better." 

Loves him.

_I._

_love._

_you._

Damien loves Mark.

Wants to kiss him even in his condition- which is still quite unnerving. They're not out of the woods yet. 

He groans and purposely tap-tap-tap's Mark until he huffs.

"Ass," Mark mutters. 

He ghosts his lips over Damien's and tastes a faint teasing smile. God, it's exhilarating. Kissing Damien feels like blowing out every candle on your birthday at once and getting everything you wished for, everything you ever wanted. Today is a good day. Today they are  _breathing._

 

-

                             m _aybe I need you the way that big moon needs that open sea_

_maybe I didn't even know I was here 'til I saw you holding me_

_give me one room to come home to, give me the palm of your hand._

 

 

 

  

**Author's Note:**

> title: "about today"  
> artist: the national
> 
> //
> 
> this was originally going to be 98% canon but I couldn't let wadsworth get her greedy hands on my son so there you go- a happy ending. tap tap tap. 
> 
> also franartz on tumblr made some gorgeous art for this and ~~I'll be linking it when they post it.~~ it's up! it's beautiful and I feel so honored and inspired ❤
> 
> eta: a huge part of the dialogue in this belongs to lauren shippen so here's to her and tbs, cheers!


End file.
